Sleeping Together Is A Euphemism For People,

All Women Are Misfits. We Do Not Fit Into This World Without Amputations.

Writing Is A Futile Attempt To Preserve What Disappears Moment By Moment. All That Remains Of My Mother Is What I Remember And What I Have Written For And About Her. Eventually That Is All That Will Remain Of [my Husband] And Me. Writing Sometimes Feels Frivolous And Sometimes Sacred, But Memory Is One Of My Strongest Muses. I Serve Her With My Words. So Long As People Read, Those We Love Survive However Evanescently. As Do We Writers, Saying With Our Life's Work, Remember. Remember Us. Remember Me.

I Never Thought Of Myself As Explaining Cats In General. I Simply Viewed The Cats I Have Known As Characters In My Life, Often As Quirky And Complex As The Humans With Whom I Have Spent Time.

The Pitcher Cries For Water To Carry And A Person For Work That Is Real.

When She Kissed Him, He Melted Like A Lump Of Milk Chocolate.